The Fangirl Chronicles
by Kepouros
Summary: Bobby's being held hostage by the Winchester Sisters, a rogue fangirl organization. With steely determination, and some earplugs for the squeals, Sam and Dean are subject to the girls' every whim and fancy if they want to see Bobby again...PROMPT ME!
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so this is all in good fun. I invite you to fantasize alongside me as I expose my deepest, darkest fangirl desires through the character of Fangirl.**  
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**Oh, and the theme this chapter is caramel. **

**I NEED ANOTHER THEME! REVIEW, LEAVE ME A GOOD ONE, AND FANGIRL MIGHT IMPLEMENT IT!**

**Remember, there resides in each of us a Fangirl. Nurture her. Toodles, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the roomless, abandoned warehouse a water pipe dripped steadily. Sam and Dean were tied to concrete-sunk posts, facing each other, about ten feet apart. They woke up around the same time, nodding heavy heads into consciousness.<p>

"What the - ?" croaked Dean.

"Ow," groaned Sam, his temples pounding.

"Ooh, ditto. What happened?"

"She must've pumped gas into the van."

"Gah, how'd she get ahold of knock-out gas? Wait. Why..." Dean began to struggle in earnest. "WHY THE HELL AM I NAKED?"

"Gross. Ugh." Sam averted his eyes. "Excellent question." Thank God the ropes around his brothers waist protected his dignity.

"One that I intend to answer," echoed a voice from the shadows beyond the single bare light bulb. "In graphically delicious detail." Into the light strode a girl of teenage years, wearing flared-leg jeans and a black tank top that said 'Forget Princess, I Wanna Be A Winchester' across the chest. Her dark brown hair was in sexy, loose ringlets.

"You are bereft of clothes, Dean dear," she cooed, leaning down to the naked Winchester's ear and tracing a finger down his bare pectoral. "Because I fangirl for your body, and Sam's soulful being."

"You what?" queried Sam, struggling hard against his bonds. Dean was looking very uncomfortable.

"I fangirl," repeated the teen with a maniacal grin. "In fact, that is my name: Fangirl. Ever since I saw the first Supernatural episode, I have been fangirling for both Winchesters. Alas," she cradled her heart. "You both have captured my love."

"Oh, God," whispered Dean cynically.

Fangirl reached down and yanked his head back by the hair. "So I decided to fangirl you each for different reasons, so as to evenly distribute my affection."

"What do you want from us?" ground out Sam.

She laughed again. "In time, Sammy. In time. So strap yourselves in, boys," she said, releasing Dean's hair and procuring a bottle of caramel sauce from her back pocket. "It's gonna be one wild night."

Dean locked wild, desperate eyes on his younger brother. "Be strong, Sammy."

"You too, bro."

"Aw, way to go, Winchesters," cheered Fangirl as she cracked the seal on the bottle of caramel.

The first tendril of stickiness fell on Dean's hair. "Yuck!" the older Winchester said. "Girl, you are all kinds of crazy. _Christo!_"

"Not possessed, Dean, baby," she cooed, smearing the caramel through his hair. "Except by love."

Sam redoubled his efforts. He should have listened to his gut when they first started seeing the signs of stalking. He should have insisted on packing them both up and getting out of Dodge. His memory ran back to the previous week's hotel, where he and Dean had had their first taste of the dreaded Fangirl...


	2. Chapter 2

It started innocuously enough. The Winchester brothers dragged into the hotel room, covered in scratches from a vengeful spirit. They cracked two fresh beers, clinked bottles with tired casualness, and set about sanitizing wounds with Jack Daniels.

"'Nother day, 'nother dollar," muttered Dean.

"I'm gonna turn in, I'm beat," sighed Sam, grabbing his toothbrush and pajama pants from their shared dufflebag.

"Save me some hot water, Samantha."

"Jerk," replied the younger brother easily, slipping into the bathroom.

"Bitch," chuckled Dean, taking another pull on his beer. He kicked off his boots, propped up against the headboard of his bed, and clicked on the television.

The phone on the bedside table rang.

Dean's head slowly turned, bottle paused in mid-sip.

"Hey, Sam."

"Yeagh brog?" Sam answered around his toothbrush.

Over another ring, Dean continued, "Who knows we're here?"

Sam spit in the sink, and went into the room. "Um...nobody."

They both turned to the phone, which rang again, then to each other with twin looks of suspicion.

"I didn't tell anyone," said Dean, holding up his hands.

"Me neither."

Another ring. Dean reached out his hand.

"Don't!" cried his brother, knocking his hand aside.

"It's just gonna keep ringing otherwise," said Dean.

Sam's worry lines appeared on his forehead. He nodded ruefully.

Dean lifted the receiver and slowly put it to his ear. He didn't know what to expect: the Trickster's voice gleefully telling him to enjoy the episode (upon which he would wake up in some skewed sitcom); Crowley's British purr greeting him sarcastically; Castiel's hesitant gravel informing him of a new hunt.

Instead, he heard the sound of labored breathing.

"Who is it?" whispered Sam.

Dean smirked and covered the mouthpiece. "Breather call."

Sam rolled his eyes, shook is head, and retreated to the bathroom again.

The heavy breathing continued. "Whoever you are," Dean murmured. "We can make this personal, if you like."

"I would like that very much," purred a female on the other end.

_Hells yeah, _Dean thought. At least, until the giggling started. It quickly escalated to maniacal laughter.

"What the - ?" Dean muttered. He slammed the phone down on the cradle and stared at it like it might bite him.

Sam wandered back in, breaking the spell. "Happy ending?" he asked blithely, turning down his bed.

Dean flipped him off, swigged the last of his beer, and turned the channel.

The phone began to ring _again._

"Just unplug it," said Sam, pausing in his movements while Dean paused in his.

"It's bolted into the wall," Dean replied, frowning. "We'll lose our security deposit."

"Since when does that bother you?"

Dean lifted the receiver quickly and put it down again.

A moment later, it started to ring once more.

The brothers looked at each other. "Okay, that's just spooky," said Sam lowly. "Even by our standards. I'm gonna sigil the walls and windows."

_Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiing._

"Forget that," replied Dean, swinging off the bed. "I'ma devil's trap the door and salt the place down."

They ended up sitting pretty in the middle of the room, shotguns across their laps, with a circle of salt and powdered blood around them. Every time the phone rang, it jerked them out of a fitful doze.

The night passed slowly.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam came out of his reverie to find Fangirl using a paintbrush to swirl caramel on Dean's face. Somehow, she'd managed to wrap a belt around Dean's forehead and the post he was tied to, securing his head. The older Winchester looked livid.

"Hold still, sweetie," she smiled. "You'll ruin the effect."

"SCREW YOUR EFFECT!" shouted Dean.

"You're so cute when you're angry," cooed Fangirl, dotting his chin with the sticky substance.

_Not as angry as he was when we met your two buddies, _thought Sam, the skin on his wrist burning under the friction of the harshly tight ropes...

* * *

><p>The Impala was silent save for the soothing strains of ACDC. Dean sipped his coffee and Bailey's grimly, shadowed and itchy eyes twitching to the gun on his leg, then his sleeping brother. Sam's breath was fogging the passenger window, his arms folded awkwardly.

As though sensing his brother's gaze, Sam stirred and raised his head. "Wanna switch off?"

Dean gave a noncommittal grunt, and sipped his coffee again. "You wanna know what bugs me?"

Sam reached for his own coffee. "What?"

"That it was a chick."

Sam snorted, letting the bitter warmth seep into his bones. "_That's _what bothers you?"

"That, and she didn't even hint at being a vampire, or a succubus, or anything."

The younger Winchester's brow furrowed. "You're right: it smells too _normal. _It's almost like she kept calling just to see if you'd pick up the phone."

Dean shook his head and gripped the wheel tighter. "How many run-ins do we have with creepy humans? How many?"

"Not many. Does Chuck the prophet count?"

The brothers grimaced at the same time, and took deep draws on their beverages. "Whatever," grumbled Dean. "Bobby'll have us a new case when we see him in a couple days, we've got this place in our mirrors, and we can just forget about the whole thing."

"You've said it. Seriously, you look like a zombie. Let's switch."

Dean sighed, signaled, and pulled to the side of the road. AC/DC's song ended as they changed seats. In the quiet left by the flipping cassette tape, there came an odd noise.

Sam stiffened. "Did you hear that?"

Dean clicked his seatbelt. "Hear what?"

Faintly, it came again.

"That!" Insisted Sam, twisting around. "Sounds like it's coming from the trunk..."

Dean's face was murderous as he slowly unclicked his seatbelt, slid silently out of the still-open door, and crept around the idling Impala. Sam followed suit, drawing his handgun. They met again in front of the trunk, senses alert. The sound came again.

"Is that...?" Asked Dean.

"Yeah. Sounds like a giggle."

Dean's eyes narrowed, and in one smooth motion, he flung open the Impala's trunk. He didn't even have time to level his gun: a black-clad human blur launched itself from the trunk, latching onto Dean's body with arms and legs.

Dean yelled in surprise and alarm. "Get it off me! Getitoffme!"

"I haven't got a shot!" roared Sam back.

"SAM! DEAN!" shrieked the female offender in a thick Asian accent. "I LOOK LONG TIME FOR YOU!"

Dean, who had been reeling and staggering under the weight of another human, fell to the mud on the side of the road. Sam abandoned the handgun and began to aid his brother in prying the ninja girl off him.

"Get off him!"

"What he said!"

"I LOVE YOU!"

Finally, the girl released her grip. Sam flung the slight girl as hard as he could, but she landed nimbly on her feet, mask ties fluttering gracefully. "I SEE YOU SOON, WINCHESTERS!" And with a flick of her wrist, a flash bomb detonated at her feet. When the smoke cleared, she was gone.

"Holy hell," groaned Dean, rubbing his ribs.

"We just got assaulted," said Sam in disbelief. "By a trunk ninja."

"I know Sammy. I know," replied Dean wearily, rising from the mud. "But there's no trauma miles and alcohol can't cure."


	4. Chapter 4

"Yuuuu-uuck," groaned Dean as Fangirl licked a stripe of caramel from his nose. His struggling was growing weaker against the expertly tied bonds. Fangirl was smiling devilishly.

"So glad you're calming down," she murmured winningly, stepping back to admire her work. "My specialty is bondage and other so-wrong-yet-strangely-right acts."

"Are you shi - !" Fangirl took this opportunity to shove a ball gag into the dirty mouth of her deliciously sticky victim.

Not that it stopped Dean. He continued the trail of expletives from behind the gag, his face a furious red.

Sam winced at his brother's discomfort, but counted his blessings that at least Fangirl hadn't graduated to knife play or whips or whatever. Or remembered that he was there. The post Sam was tied to was unyielding against his futile flexing. He couldn't decide which was worse: being the alert victim of a psychotic food fetisher, or unconscious while they had their way...

* * *

><p>After a dinner of cow and psuedo-vegetables, the men found a suitably dilapidated motel to hole up in for the night. They'd put several hundred miles between them and the...incidents: enough that their shoulders began to loosen from around their ears.<p>

Dean stalked into their room and headed straight for the shower. "I feel dirty, and not in a good way."

"Yeah, you look it," replied Sam, collapsing on the bed. "Didja see the front desk guy's face?"

"Like he needed the help only a Dulcolax can provide?"

Sam chuckled. "If I'm out when you come out, don't wake me."

"Why not? You slept the whole way here."

"Did not," yawned Sam. And just like that, he was asleep.

Dean stripped naked, wincing as the movement agitated his bruised ribs, and turned on the water. As the steam rose, he stepped under the showerhead, tipping back his head with relief.

Sam was breathing deeply, entering his first REM cycle in record time. He didn't hear a soft clicking of picks against the lock of their door: didn't see the light from the moth-frenzied hall illuminate a slice of his body. A figure in a short, fluffy skirt and braided hair crept into the room, bending over his slumbering form...

Sam was floating in that state in-between full sleep and waking. An ever-so-slight tug on his hair and the barest brush of metal on his ear was enough to slide him closer to wakefulness. He sensed someone standing over him, very close. Imagining it was Dean throwing the first volley in a prank war, he held perfectly still and waited for the touch to come again.

_There! _

With a triumphant "Aha!" Sam spun on the bed and grabbed the perpetrator's arm. He registered a mini skirt full of petticoats and lots of lace. The light from the cracked door glinted off the pair of ornate scissors in her hand...

"Sammy? What was that?" called Dean uncertainly from the shower. where rivulets of soap ran down his chest and stomach.

"DEAN!"

Without hesitation, Dean leaped out of the shower, grabbing a handy pistol and a towel. He dashed into the bedroom to find Sam pushing to his hands and knees from the floor, the door to their motel room swinging wide. Dean looked outside, but the slightest glimpse of a shadow rounding the corner was not enough to goad him away from Sam...and his clothes.

"What happened?" Dean asked, wrapping the towel securely.

Sam made a frustrated noise, rubbing his shins. "I woke up and this chick was standing over me with a pair of scissors!"

Dean made a motion at Sam's head, and the younger Winchester reached up with tentative fingers. "She took a chunk of my hair," he said hollowly.

"Well," said Dean in a pacifying tone. "At least you look less girly. A little on the emo side, though."

At last they could agree on one thing: their assailants were decidedly human, working together, and female to boot. The Winchesters would have left the motel all together, but they reasoned that their stalkers, for lack of a better term, would not strike twice in one night.

Oh, how wrong they were.

Even taking watch in shifts did them no good. They came to consciousness, Sam slumped over the table with his face in his own spilled coffee, and Dean in the bed.

They were both artfully covered in strawberries and whipped cream.

With twin migraines and sore nasal passages, they set about investigating the locked room and discovered dusty residue around the air vents.

"Whoever these chicks are," growled Dean, flinging the air-whipped goodness from his body. "They're good, I'll give 'em that."

"Don't give 'em that," snapped Sam, his hand combing his sadly lopsided hair. "Let's just go, already. Bobby's house is another day and night away."

* * *

><p><strong>LOL a nod to my devotee, the marvelous EvilAngelTeamGabe, whose prompt was 'strawberries and whips'.<br>**

**Now, who else has a prompt for Fangirl? Try her! She's a devious one...  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, Faaan-giiiirl!" sing-songed a female voice from beyond the light's wane reach.

Sam's head whipped around like the Exorcist, and his nose detected the now-traumatic scent of strawberries. _Is that the same girl who...? _

Fangirl scowled and retracted the cake decorating bag of icing she'd been using to decoratively dot Dean's chest. Dean visibly relaxed as she walked away from the brothers, into the darkness.

The older Winchester still had the ball gag firmly hooked around his head, but his eyes spoke everything Sam needed to know: _I'm fine, bitch. I did go to hell, you know. Psycho chicks with sweets have nothing on me. _

"Dude, allow me to shudder for you," replied Sam sardonically. "We'll get out of this mess, I know we will. Bobby is still out there."

Dean muttered something that sounded like: "He's got his own problems."

* * *

><p>"And you two are choosing to call me only now," asked Bobby on speakerphone, with an implied 'idjit'. "Now that they've got you tail-tucked and bookin' it for my place?"<p>

Dean frowned, reaching onto the dashboard for a thin metal brush with his free hand. "We're not runnin' scared. We just need to regroup."

"And research," added Sam from behind the wheel. "Far as we know, they're just human girls with an...an..."

"Obsession?" supplied Dean darkly, working the brush into the barrel of a pistol with intent.

"An obsession for...us," finished Sam. He glanced nervously at his brother, who had been cleaning the same gun since they left the motel three hours ago.

"And you boys haven't pissed off any witches, or done any funky spells?"

"No popularity contests, either," snarked Dean, looking down the barrel critically.

"Seriously," said Sam, hands tightening on the wheel. "We've done nothing to garner this."

"Uh-huh," said Bobby. The boys could hear him sighing, leaning back in his chair, and readjusting his hat. "Fellas, this is a new one on me, but I'll see what I can scare up for info."

"Thanks, Bobby," replied Dean. He closed the cellphone, and began to polish the hand grip with enthusiasm. "Let's stop for some grub soon," he said with forced levity. "I need pie."

Sam glanced sidelong at his brother, and could just make out the eye twitch over the sharp movement of Dean's hands.

"A whole lot of pie," continued Dean with a dangerous chuckle.

"Sure thing, bro," replied Sam uneasily.

* * *

><p>"Fangirl!" greeted Gothic Lolita, her fluffy black skirt bouncing as she bounded from screen to screen in the depths of the warehouse.<p>

"What did you call me in here for, Lolita?" sighed Fangirl, folding her arms.

"I just wanted to show you the shower footage!" said the pale-skinned girl, twirling joyfully.

Fangirl hurried to the screen. "It's finished downloading?"

"Yep! Every last second of sudsy goodness."

In celebration, Fangirl and Lolita partook in a traditional fangirl victory dance, i.e. squealing and hugging and spinning.

"What be the ruckus?" asked Otaku, stepping from the shadows. Her ninja mask was pulled down in the presence of her fellow fangirls.

"The shower footage is done!" rejoiced Fangirl, remembering a semblance of her composure. "Thanks to our online and computer whiz, Lolita!"

"Oh, no thanks to me," curtsied the blonde goth. "All kudos to Otaku, who planted the cameras."

"Oh, but you did get us The Hair," said Fangirl with reverence. In the corner of the improvised center of operations, there was a low, alter-like table covered in photos of Dean and Sam, scraps of clothing, and what looked suspiciously like dental floss and dirty napkins. The spread was surrounded by candles, and splattered with as much glitter and hearts as a kindergartener's Valentine's Day project. In the center of the alter, on a red velvet cushion, the missing chunk of Sam's hair sat, tied with a silk ribbon.

"Much thanks," agreed Otaku, bowing. "But was Fangirl who had idea."

"Face it, girls," Fangirl said with a triumphant smile. "We did it. We captured the Winchesters."

"You bet your salt rounds we did," cheered Lolita. "With my tech skills, Otaku's ninja stuff, and Fangirl's strategies, nothing could stop us!"

The girls high-fived, and took seats around the largest computer screen, jostling for position.

"Okay, so I did this inbetween writing the next chapter of 'The Panic Room Rumba'," said Lolita. "So the accompanying music may be - "

"Just play! PLAY!" shouted Otaku.

Fangirl stared at the ninja. "Why do you yell when you're excited? I thought ninjas were quiet."

"WINCHESTERS HERE! NO CAN BE QUIET!"

"Hold onto your grimoires, girls. Here. We. Go!"

A smooth, sexy R&B number began to play, and the screen illuminated with a slightly grainy image of a motel bathroom. In sauntered Dean, already peeling the muddy shirt from his body.

"Oh my God," whispered Fangirl, eyes bright with adoration. "Look at him. He's hurt."

"Dean no match for ninja in love," asserted Otaku.

"Shh!" hushed Lolita. "Here comes the best part. Full frontal nudity, girls!"

The squeals rose to an ear-shattering pitch.

"What the hell are they doing back there?" asked Sam, frustrated at his lack of a view.

Dean, on the other hand, had a perfect view of the large screen a few dozen feet away. He was alternating between paleness and crimson. He said something around the ball gag that Sam interpreted as, "You don't want to know."

* * *

><p>The cell phone rang while Dean was behind the wheel. He snatched it up, eyes glued to the road. "Yeah, Bobby."<p>

"You idjits shopping online?"

"What?" asked Dean stupidly.

"And by any chance, was the mailing address my house?"

"You're not making any sense."

Sam was listening to the tinny, contained voice intently, equally confused.

"Because I just got a risque package addressed to both of you."

"Quit being cryptic, Bobby," snapped Dean.

"Do you know anyone who wears pink, lacy panties?"

Sam and Dean simply looked at each other, deeply and thoroughly defeated.

* * *

><p><strong>And another entertaining prompt given by WickedLittleLies. Thanks!<strong>

**Anyone else have a prompt? Anyone...anyone...?**

**I NEED IDEAS!  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Like the Celine Dion song they had never heard, the hunters drove all night, no stops. The Winchestermobile pulled to a squeakless halt in front of Singer Salvage at nine in the morning. The air in the car was palpably calmer. This was Bobby's house, the closest thing two wandering hunters could have for a home. This was harbor: this was safety.

"Bobby!" called Sam, knocking on the front door. It swung open ominously.

"Never a good sign," muttered Dean, drawing his handgun for what felt like the hundredth time this week.

"It never ends," agreed Sam, drawing his own gun. With a united nod, they burst through the loose door and canvased the foyer. No sign of Bobby.

_This does not bode well, _thought Sam. He took the left set of rooms and the kitchen. Dean leveled a pistol at the study and living room, coming up empty.

"Hey, Dean," called Sam. "Come in here."

The tone of his voice made Dean's ears prick. Something was wrong. Walking softly, he eased around the corner of the foyer and peeked tactically into the kitchen. He could just barely see two sets of hands resting on the kitchen table, one Sam's, the other Bobby's.

"Come in, Dean, sweetie," cooed a smoke-roughened female voice. "I know you're there."

Dean did as bade, gun unwavering. Sure enough, Bobby and Sam were seated at the table, but with extremely uncomfortable expressions. This was due in part to the car battery on the table and jumper cables clipped on their left ears.

"That won't be necessary," said the woman holding the other clips of the jumper cables. She looked like a biker mixed with a homeless grunge rocker. "I would hate to short circuit one of their brains, but I will." To emphasize, she waved the clip in her left hand closer to Sam, who flinched.

"Believe me, she will," added Bobby. Was that a touch of awe in his voice?

"Bobby, what's going on?" growled Dean, reluctantly lowering his gun.

"Kick that over here, mister. Tell him, my love," cooed the woman.

"I did some research while you boys were in transit," said the oldest hunter while Dean grudgingly kicked his gun to the feet of the woman. "As it turns out, it was a group of fangirls called the Winchester Sisters who have been after you two."

"Fangirls?" repeated Dean incredulously. But, in truth, it sounded reasonable. The trunk ninja's shriek of "I LOVE YOU!" rang in his head. Why a bunch of girls would obsess over Sam - _I mean, _us, Dean corrected himself - was beyond him, though. Supernatural creatures, he understood. Humans were tricky...

"Now tell him the best part," the woman urged Bobby with a smile.

"They've put out an APB on you boys to all their millions of supporters nationwide," continued Bobby. "Anyone who captures you two gets indoctrinated into the inner circle, and the fangirl fantasy of their choice fulfilled."

"All the Sisters we saw were coeds, at most," said Dean, slightly confused. "She looks at least your age, Bobby."

The woman laughed. "What do you think fangirls turn into when their all grown up?"

"No way," breathed Sam, his first words tinged with fear.

The woman sparked the cables together, eyes glinting. "They turn into Bobby Wemen!"

* * *

><p>"We're coming up on it now," said Fangirl, reaching to the dashboard of the panel van and turning off the GPS.<p>

"Good," replied Lolita, twirling her hair with a lace-gloved hand. "I can practically smell Sam's musk," she sighed.

"I smell leather and cheeseburger," said Otaku from between them, chin in her hands. "It is Dean's smell."

As one, the girls sighed breathily, adoring smiles on their faces.

"Bobby Wumen said that she'd have the Winchesters all wrapped up for us," said Fangirl, breaking the reverie. "In exchange, she gets to keep Bobby Singer."

"No love lost there," chuckled Lolita.

"We no have to share Winchesters with her," agreed Otaku.

"Here we are," said Fangirl, hanging a sharp right at a dilapidated sign that read 'Singer Salvage'. "Girls, I would like to take a moment and appreciate the situation."

"Wait!" cried Lolita. "I need to document this for the blog." She reached into her purse (shaped like a pink skull) and withdrew a handheld camera and her Ipod hooked up to a mini speaker, which began to play thematic music. "Please continue, fearless leader," murmured Lolita, tripoding the camera on the dash.

"In a few short minutes," began Fangirl with gravity. "We will realize the greatest achievement in fangirl history. After months, nay, _years _of planning, searching, networking, and longing...we will be in possession of the objects of our infatuation: The Winchester brothers."

Otaku and Lolita whooped.

"Upon them, we will perpetrate every fantasy of every fangirl the worldover, and post the acts to the Winchester Sisters blog in dictionary format, from 'Carwash' to 'Wincest', for easy searching."

The two devotees in the thrall of her speech moaned appreciatively, clapping

"We have many sisters to thank for this great moment in our legacy. It is only through the tireless dedication of fangirlkind, their enthusiasm in writing, reading, watching, dreaming, and fantasizing, that we are able to realize our ultimate goal. We owe this to those who could not be here to witness, and those who have been stripped of the ardor by life's brutality, just as much as the hardcore fans. May their roads be long and sundrenched, and may their shotgun rounds stay salty. Without further ado," said Fangirl, charging her tazer with a whine. "One small step for girls, one giant leap for fangirlkind!"

Lolita returned her camera to her purse. "The denizens will eat this up!"

Cheering, the threesome poured out of the panel van. The fangirls walked through the open door. "That's the room where Dean's unresurrected body lay in season six!" whispered Fangirl, motioning down the hall.

"That's where the brothers hugged in season four!" murmured Lolita.

"Where is panic room? Are ropes still on bed?" commented Otaku with contained eagerness. Her fellow fangirls stared at her. "What?"

"I thought I smelled insecurity and naivete," said Bobby Wumen sarcastically as the Sisters entered the kitchen. Dean, who looked quite perturbed, was zip-cuffed to the oven door, while Sam and Bobby were still sequestered at the table. "I thought I smelled psycho," he muttered to himself.

"That's funny," replied Lolita silkily. "I smell menopause and lung disease. How odd."

Wumen chuckled darkly. "Let's get this exchange over with. Our kinds were not meant to mix."

"Yes," said Otaku, eyes venomous.

Lolita reached into her skull purse and withdrew two collars. She tossed them to Wumen, who clipped them around the Winchesters' necks, removing her own jury-rigged car battery from Sam's ear and leaving Bobby's in place. "These are shock collars similar to those used to control dogs," warned Wumen. "One wrong move, and..." Lolita depressed a button on an accompanying remote, and Dean and Sam stiffened with manly exclamations of shock and pain.

Dean came to his senses on the floor, with Sam's foot twitching against his temple. He swore. Sam echoed him. They were beat...at least until the collars came off.

"That settled," growled Otaku, staring hungrily at Dean. "Let us go."

"Yeah," said Fangirl, turning to Bobby Wumen. "Thanks for nothing, fossil humper."

"Safe travels," replied the woman sweetly, lighting a filterless Camel. "Oh wait, do you have your permit yet?"

"Try not to bust his hips. Osteoperosis sets in quick in alcoholics," snarked Lolita, booting the Winchesters to their feet and prodding them to the front door.

"Don't worry about Bobby," assured Wumen, patting her victim's trucker cap-clad head. "We're gonna have a great time."

Bobby grimaced at her touch. "Boys! Be careful!"

"We'll be alright, Bobby!" called back Sam, who was given a slight jolt by Lolita.

_I think, _thought the younger Winchester as he and Dean were forced into the back of the van. He didn't think much after that, for as soon as the doors swung shut, the cabin he and Dean were in filled with foul gas.


	7. Chapter 7

**By the way, I changed one small thing in the first chapter. The boys were not kidnapped from their hotel room. Instead, they were captured at Bobby's house, as evidenced by the previous chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Wow," whispered Lolita. Her awed voice broke what had been a five-minute staring spree at a static screen. The high of the Full Frontal Nudity: Dean in the Shower scene had yet to fade in the slightest.<p>

"That was insane," agreed Fangirl. She reached into her pocket and pulled out three coughdrops, passing them to her posse. Sustained squealing at that high of a pitch was hell on the throat, but hey, that was the price of devotion.

Otaku was gripping the arms of her office chair with white knuckles, and with effort extracted her fingers to take the proffered cough drop. "I love him," she murmured, twisting the wrapper automatically.

Lolita gave an ostentatious slurp on her coughdrop. "You said it."

Their benumbed stillness was broken by a loud _CRACK! _

All three girls startled, and whipped around. The marble top of the alter they had set up with Sam's hair had a large crack in the center of it, and a purple mist was rising from the fissure.

"Um, girls," said Fangirl, rising to her feet slowly, eyes on the coalescing mist. "Just how accurate of a reproduction was that alter?"

"Um, a perfect one?" answered Otaku, also rising slowly.

The mist swirled like a galaxy, and in the middle of it appeared several faces, each vying for the front position. Their voices came out of the mist like a chorus of Gregorian chanters, and their faces showed lineage from all over the world: white, black, Hispanic, Indian, and a series of obscure nationalities that spanned the globe. _"We have heard your declarations of love," _they said together, their voices radiating power. _"Your utterances of devotion have reached the Netherworld, where all fallen fangirls rest their spirits."_

"There are other Sisters?" asked Fangirl excitedly. "Not just ones alive today?"

_"Indeed, Sister Fangirl," _said the cacophony. _"Your plans to achieve every fangirl's fantasy are bold, and assertive. We wish to aid you in your quest."_

"How so?" asked Lolita.

_"By possessing you, the ones who have fulfilled the prophecy, we will give you ancestral, magical strength reaching as far back as Sampson's Delilah, the first fangirl to cut off the hair of her obsession._"

Fangirl turned to her posse, eyes fiery. "What do you think, girls? A little magic never hurt the plans."

Otaku and Lolita exchanged glances. "Fangirls all over the world deserve to have their Winchester wishes fulfilled," said Lolita.

"It would be great honor," said Otaku.

The misty faces rushed forward and engulfed the trio in swirling light.

* * *

><p>The noises Sam could hear had changed dramatically. No more squeals of delight, but now, howling and shrieking of a gut-wrenching ghostly timbre that he couldn't make out. "What the hell?" asked Sam, violently struggling to look around the post he was tied to. "What's going on over there?"<p>

Dean, in the direct line of sight, attempted to answer around the gag, only to stop talking in mid-sentence out of frustration. His expression was of the "Oh, crappity crap crap" variety, with a dash of "We are screwed, with no lube".

A minute later, the ghost voices stopped, and there was dead silence.

After a long time the Winchester Sisters walked out of the glow of the screens in the opposite end of the warehouse to stand in front of their captives. Sam made note of their someone's-not-home expressions, which reminded him of Dean watching Dr. Sexy, MD.

_"What has been seen,"_ intoned Fangirl. Her voice had changed: it sounded like several people talking at once.

_"Cannot be unseen,"_ finished Lolita, a similar layer to her words.

_"We no mind, though,"_ continued Otaku, rounding out Sam's uh-oh factor.

As one, their eyes blazed ultraviolet purple. _"We have seen the Living Sex God in all his nude glory,"_ they said in creepy unison. _"And now, through the power of our predecessors, we are of one consciousness, and with one purpose."_

"Oh, God," muttered Sam. Dean echoed him from behind the ball gag.

_"We __have been granted supernatural power by which to accomplish our goals,__"_ said the trio of Sisters together. _"Just as we h__ave been transformed by the uniting of our minds and spirits,__ we must unite under one glorious banner the rest of fangirlkind."_

"Oh, _God_," repeated Sam emphatically. He knew the signs of witchcraft gone awry as surely as he knew his Enochian chants. But what was possessing them? How did this come out of nowhere? A short time ago they had been normal, creepily obsessed humans: now, they were falling securely into the realm of the supernatural.

Sam and Dean could handl_e _this. If they could get free, that is.

_"Now,"_ continued the Sisters in their eerie chorus. _"We shall begin the Fangirl Dictionary of Winchester Acts. We will start with Sam, as he is more popular amongst the Sisters."_

"What?" shouted Dean. Sam jumped, surprised that his brother had managed to slip the gag (this may or may not have been a testament to Dean's experience with certain leather-clad sex practices). "There's no fudgin' way Sam is more popular than me!"

"Are you really going to find issue with that?" asked Sam sharply as the Sisters advanced upon him. "Not the fact that I'm about to be molested?"

"Hell yeah, I am!" replied Dean. "About time you got some prison love, too." Then Dean did something he only did around buxom blondes: he winked. It wasn't just a wink, though. It was a _conspiratorial _wink, directed at Sam. Something was about to go down.

Sam trusted his brother explicitly, and played along. "You have got to be kidding me!" cried Sam as Lolita began to cut his clothes off with her ornate scissors. Fangirl ran her hands though his hair, and Otaku started to wrestle with his shoes.

"Not kidding," sneered Dean, winking spastically. "These _wemen_ throw themselves at me. Let's see how you like it!"

The inflection on the word 'wemen' tipped Sam off just in time. Just as a zombie-like Lolita tugged at his belt, Bobby Wumen rushed from the shadows with a vengeance. An unrestrained and battle-ready Bobby was close on her heels.

"Unhand the surrogate sons of my lover!" shouted Wumen, backhanding Lolita like a professional pimp.

Dean found lots of issue with that statement, but let it slide in favor of being cut out of his ropes by a tongue-in-cheek Bobby. "Found your pants," the older hunter said gruffly, averting his eyes, as Bobby Wumen squared off with all three possessed fangirls.

"Thanks," replied Dean, pulling them on with relief. "Since when is Bobby Wumen on our side?"

Bobby turned slightly red and stuttered, "It's like...we kind of...look, it's a long story for another time."

"I see," replied Dean, containing his laughter. "Looks like we've got - "

"A possession on our hands, yeah, we know," interrupted Bobby as he worked to free a grateful Sam.

"How'd you find us?" asked Sam as he stood, his shirt raggedly open in front to display delicious abdominals.

"Tracked the IP address of their Tweets, blog posts, and Myspace," said Bobby gruffly, reaching into his backpack and dealing out an ancient-looking tome to Sam and a copper bowl to Dean. "Or rather, Shirley did."

"Shirley?" queried Dean.

"Her," said Bobby brusquely, watching Bobby Wumen take a kick to the gut from Otaku. "She's a MIT grad, did you know?"

"Uh..."

"Never mind. Sam, the Latin chant, today," urged Bobby, dumping a sack of herbs and bones into the bowl.

Sam obliged, the contents of Dean's bowl bursting into sparks and smoke. The trio of fangirls seemed to have purple, misty doubles of themselves for a moment, like ghostly shadows. But the misty forms did not exit their fleshly vessels, instead turning to laugh at the three hunters. _"Fools! We are not demons! We cannot be exorcised!"_

"Crap, didn't think of that," said Bobby.

"They're just humans," said Sam tightly, watching Lolita and Fangirl leave Otaku beating the crap out of Bobby Wum - erm, Shirley - and advance with predatory intent. "What do you do when you can't exorcise 'em, and can't shoot 'em?"

"We tactically run," growled Bobby. And he turned and did just that. "Saddle up, honey!"

"Honey?" smirked Dean, arms pumping.

"Shut up, idjit." They made it to the door of the warehouse, banging it open. The second a black-eyed Shirley passed the threshold, they threw their weight against it. An impact on the other side of the sturdy metal was enough to nearly dislodge them all.

"I got this," said Shirley in her gravelly tones, jogging down the side of the building. She pushed the dumpster she found their towards the door, and the three hunters guided it to rest flush against the jerking, now-dented door.

"This way, hustle!" said Bobby, leading the way to the Impala, which sat idling a few dozen feet away. As the quartet took off in a squeal of tires, the dumpster against the door flew through the air, spilling its contents. The Winchester Sisters watched with purple, glowing eyes as the Impala rounded the building's corner and disappeared.

_"Sister Lolita," _said Fangirl. _"Is the tracking device implanted in Dean's muscular, cute ass operational?"_

_"Indeed, Sister Fangirl," _replied the goth, smiling sinisterly.

Otaku's evil, ecstatic laugh was as convincing as it was contagious. _"Then it is only a matter of time."_


	8. Chapter 8

"You boys alright?" asked Bobby gruffly from the backseat beside Shirley.

Dean had somehow finagled his usual driver's position during their escape. Now, he was gunning the Impala around blind, obscure curves on the highway with a white-knuckled grip. Jaw clenched, he regretted to answer.

"Fine," said Sam hastily in lieu of his brother's response. "They didn't hurt us. Not by our standards, anyway."

"Too bad," sighed Shirley, examining her swelling eye in a pentagram-embossed compact mirror.

"And you care, why?" queried Sam with dwindling patience for the night's antics.

"Because you two hold back Robert from his full potential!" she snarled, the compact snapping shut.

"Just how much have you told this chick, Bobby?" asked Sam hotly.

"Put a sock in it, all of you," growled Dean.

"And what's your problem, sunshine?" snarked Shirley. "Forget the safeword back there?"

Dean inhaled through his nose. "Gee," he began with mock perkiness. "Let's see: someone took my pants off while I was _unconscious, _someone filmed my naked form was while I showered, my nipples are sore from someone's creative placement of those jumper cables before settling on my ears, we just ran from a bunch of puny ghosts, and _do you know how frustrating it is to have fetishers all over you when you can't even enjoy it?" _

Shirley was sobbing with laughter against the window. "Stop! It's too much!"

Sam almost laughed too, but covered it with his hand and a cough. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," continued Dean plaintively. "My ass hurts."

That brought the entire car down in laughter. The Impala practically bounced on her shocks as she kicked up leaves on the dark road.

Finally, Sam resurfaced from the rib-aching fit. "Any idea where we can go?"

"I got some ideas for the three of you," muttered Dean darkly.

"Let's get a hotel, get some rest, and get a gameplan in the morning," suggested Bobby. "We're no good on adrenaline only."

"I like that idea," cooed Shirley like a vulture with throat cancer, walking two fingers alluringly up Bobby's chest.

"Ugh, dry retching," whined Dean.

"Gross," agreed Sam.

Hours of driving and arguing over which cassette to feed the silence passed quickly. The exit sign was barely visible under the pile of dying vines, a preclude to the state of the by-the-hour hotel they stopped at.

As they exited the car, Dean grunted, flinched as though to cradle his right buttcheek, and limped towards the office in a manly fashion. "Let this day end," he groaned.

"You're bleeding," commented Sam concernedly.

"I am?" asked Dean, twisting in an attempt to look at his jeans.

"Doesn't look too bad, though."

"Looks like the Sisters' advances weren't safe, sane, and consensual, after all," said Bobby as he brushed by, mouth twitching.

Shirley followed her man, but leaned towards Dean's ear and said, in eerily convincing gravel, "Don't drop the soap, purty bow-ah."

Sam bit back another bout of giggles, and supported his brother to the main office.

The night shift employee looked up from her manga magazine, and her eyes widened. "C-can I help you?"

The sight they made was deplorable on multiple levels: the lot of them dribbled with blood, a woman with a dominatrix/motorcycle mama complex, an older man with the slightest air of creepy-uncle perversion, and two well-muscled young men, both bare chested. One of these young men had reddened nipples, and seemed to be bleeding from the rear.

"Two rooms with two beds apiece, connected, please," said Bobby politely, slapping down a piece of gold plastic.

"R-right away," said the night girl, blushing. As she ducked under the counter to retrieve the clipboard of pertinent information, she swore she heard a character from _Deliverance _say, "You shur gotta purty mouth, bow-ah."

For some reason, that caused the group to burst into laughter. Except the one with the red nipples, who glowered at them hatefully.

* * *

><p>"No," said Dean firmly. "Absolutely not."<p>

"Dean," started Sam winsomely. "I have to look at it to treat it."

"Nuh-uh," said the older Winchester stubbornly, trying to sit on one of the thin beds but wincing and thinking better of it.

Bobby poked his head around the door connecting their rooms. "It has to be cleaned and bandaged, boy. Final word." And with that, he shut the door.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not gonna think about it. Are you?"

"Not a chance," replied Dean. "Kissing a smoker is like licking an ash tray..."

"You heard the man," said Sam, tipping a bottle of peroxide against a cotton swab.

Dean scowled. "Fine." Moments later, he was laying on his belly on the bed with Sam leaning over him, first aid kit open. The younger Winchester was trying very, very hard not to commit any mental images to memory.

"OW!"

"I haven't even touched you yet."

"You didn't have to. I think there's something - YOW!"

"Okay, hold still. There's something in the wound."

The night clerk girl was doing her hourly walk of the halls, and was stopped in her tracks by two voices raised from the other side of the door to one of the rooms she'd just given the four late guests.

"Stop clenching!"

"I can't!"

"Try breathing through it: I'm almost done."

"That HURTS!"

"Almost there!"

"Sooooon oooofff aaaaaaAAAA - !"

"Got it!"

With a squeak and a scurry, the girl hurried on. Her boss had told her this job would mean seeing some...interesting folk. It wasn't until now she realized how right he was!

"Oh, ow, ow, ow," groaned Dean, relaxing as Sam withdrew the tweezers.

"Look at this," said the younger Winchester, holding it for his brother's inspection.

"Is that a...?"

"Looks like it," Sam said grimly. He dropped the pill-shaped tracking device on the filthy carpet and crushed it under one boot. "It seems the Sisters are not to be underestimated."

* * *

><p><em>"I have lost the signal, Sister Fangirl," <em>intoned Lolita, swiveling in her chair.

_"Then get it back!" _barked Fangirl. _"We cannot lose them!"_

_"Alas, the tracker has been destroyed."_

_"Think of it this way," _consoled Otaku, who had better language skills when possessed by one whose mother tongue was English. _"The only one Dean would _ever_ let near his unprotected_, _supple ass is Sam."_

Fangirl cupped a hand to her ear. _"Did you hear that?"_

_"Hear what, fearless leader?"_ queried Otaku.

_"A Wincest fairy just got her wings."_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I am flirting with the line, I know. It is simply astonishing how much wishful thinking can be put into words when the topic is Supernatural and gayness...This is my tribute to the stunning waste of time and hilarity fodder that is WincestWinchester-Incest. **

**Don't do it. Seriously. Talk about scars. **

***sigh* Just send me your therapy bills...  
><strong>


	9. Chapter 9

Sam and Dean were grown men. Seriously, they could tie their own shoes, write (fake) checks, drive, shoot...they even did grown men things with grown women behind closed doors.

What they failed to realize, in the heat of their post-escape adrenaline crash, was that Bobby, too, was a grown man.

Alone in a room with a grown wuman.

So when the brothers were rudely awakened by some dubious sounds on the other side of the wall, they could have slapped themselves. They had just handed this Shirley character (who was in sketchy standing after the whole handing-them-over-to-the-Sisters thing) another opportunity to sink her black talons into Bobby.

But if the thumping on the wall was any indicator, Shirley was probably doing more scratching than sinking.

"Dear God," groaned Dean, rolling over.

"That's just sick and wrong," said Sam disgustedly, pulling the pillow over his head. "Don't they know we can hear them?"

The thumping picked up pace.

"HEY!" shouted Dean, rising up in the bed. "KEEP IT DOWN!"

There came muffled shrieking, of the distinctly non-happy variety, in reply.

"That's not sexy-time screams," asserted Dean.

Sam snorted and flung back the covers. "You would know."

They exchanged glances and quickly dressed. Handguns at the ready, as one they shouldered open the door and swept the room.

What they found inside looked like a bomb had gone off, closely followed by a tornado. Bobby was nowhere to be seen. Lamps were tipped and broken, the mirrors on the ceiling over the bed cracked, the sheets ripped, the mattress spilling stuffing, and the pillows shredded like a Twilight vampire's honeymoon night. In the corner was a very pissed and hogtied Shirley, who had kicked the paint off the adjacent wall with her limited movement.

"What the hell happened?" asked Sam, yanking the sock from Shirley's mouth.

"Looks like they came in through the window," commented Dean tersely. "And went out through the door."

"I woke up in Bobby's strong, hairy arms," Shirley recounted angrily, but with some tenderness, working her jaw. "That stinkin' ninja had a syringe buried in my neck, and the blonde and brunette were subduing Bobby. I pass out from the drug, and when I come to, I'm tied up and Bobby is gone. You two idiots slept like baby Jesus through the whole thing!"

"We know from experience," said Sam cut her off hotly, cutting her bonds. "That the one of the stinkin' ninja's favorite tools is knockout gas."

Dean bent to touch a red, sticky substance, then sniffed his fingers cautiously, and gave a very subtle shiver.

"Strawberry," stated Sam for him. He left Shirley rubbing her ankles and wrists to follow Dean, who was trailing the drizzle of sweetness towards the bathroom. The trail ended on the wall of the shower, where the surface was flat and hard enough for the words smudged there to stand out sharply.

IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE BOBBY AGAIN, YOU WILL TYPE IN THIS WEBSITE AT NOON TODAY AND DO EXACTLY AS WE SAY.

"What are they, poets and didn't know it?" snarked Dean. He glanced at his brother. "What do you think they're gonna ask us to do?"

Sam's worry lines were rising to life on his forehead. "Whatever it is," he said heavily. "It won't be pleasant. For us, anyway."

"Noon," Dean looked at his watch. "That's an hour and a half from now. No time to track them down, and no time to worm out of this."

"Just like they wanted, no doubt," said Shirley, stepping into the bathroom. "You've stepped in it this time, boys."

"Lady," said Dean evenly, eyes predatory as he turned to stare her down. "I don't know where you came from, but I suggest you go back."

"Can't do that, sunshine," she replied, thumbing a Bic lighter and bringing it to bear on a cigarette. "Those crazy bitches got my Bobby-kins."

"Bobby-kins?" repeated Sam hollowly. But that small part of his Harvard-educated brain was working.

Dean coughed on the filterless tobacco exhalations, waving one hand. "Were your parents a dragon and a freight train?"

Shirley exhaled unapologetically in his face. "Besides," she continued from within a rapidly growing cloud of smoke. "I'm a part of this now."

"Sammy," said Dean, looking at his brother. "I see that hamster on a treadmill between your ears dropping acid."

The younger Winchester nodded, a slow smile creeping up his face. "I think I've got a plan. But you're not gonna like it."

"If he isn't gonna like it," chuckled the burning tip of the cigarette from within the cloud. "Then I'll probably love it."

* * *

><p>Bobby came to in what was, at first glance, complete darkness. He was slightly dizzy, and he could feel that his limbs were bound. As he groaned softly and let his vision settle, he could see faintly through the holes in the bag over his head. He was tied to a common metal chair, that much he could tell. What lay beyond, he could not discern. His ears picked up on four female voices, and, with a series of hops, he managed to get close enough to the wall to discern words...<p>

* * *

><p>"Thanks for letting up set up in your house, Cherry Pie," said Fangirl, taking the mug of steaming tea from the manga-reading hotel night clerk. "You did really well, contacting us when you saw our escapees."<p>

"Talk about luck!" replied Cherry, flipping her signature red hair over her shoulder and passing Lolita and Otaku their mugs. "They walked into my workplace, on my shift. And Dean looked so delectable all bloodied up."

"Tell me about it," sighed Otaku dreamily.

"I bet the boys tended each others' wounds," said Lolita, leaning back against the countertop. "Nothing like a little hurt!Dean and hurt!Sam to brighten your day."

"So those ghosts of fangirls past just let you back into control?" asked Cherry, breaking out of her daze to sip her own mug.

"Yep," chirped Lolita, snaking a cord to the miniature satellite on the kitchen table. "They'll be back when we need 'em, but Sisters don't puppet other Sisters unnecessarily."

"Besides," said Otaku, powering up a laptop that was a nerd's wet dream. "They no know how to do tech like us."

"I see," said Cherry, eyeing what looked like a Radio Shack hairball on her table.

"So, it's pretty obvious where our Sister names come from," said Fangirl conversationally. "Especially mine. There's Gothic Lolita, and Otaku the Japanese fangirl incarnate. Where did yours come from?"

"No offense," giggled Lolita. "But it sounds like the name of a My Little Pony."

"Well," drawled Cherry Pie. "Dean loves pie, right? It only makes sense to make my Sister name something he loves."

"From one Deangirl to another, it makes total sense," agreed Fangirl, clinking mugs with their hostess. "How goes the setup?" she asked her peers.

"Almost done," said Lolita, typing deftly on the laptop. "We'll be ready to hack into and broadcast on every Supernatural site, both fanmade and official, and every mass media site on the planet well before noon. The Dictionary of Winchester Acts will be completed."

"Sweet," said Cherry, smirking appreciatively. "And with all that high-tech Computer Generated Image software, they won't even have to change costumes or anything, right?"

"Yep," replied Lolita, turning the satellite just so. "All they have to do is lend us their beautiful bodies and sexy voices."

"Here's to fangirl ingenuity," Fangirl smiled toothily, toasting her fellows. "Long live the Winchester Sisters!"

* * *

><p>Bobby leaned away from the wall and scuffled back to the center of the room. He hoped the boys and Shirley could figure a way out of this mess. From where he sat, things looked pretty grim.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>THIS IS YOUR CHANCE, READERS!<strong>

**Now is the time, if you've been holding out, to let loose ALL your fan-tasies. In the next chapter, the Winchester boys will be subject to the Sisters' every whim and fancy, or they will never see Bobby again. **

**Have you always wanted to read pieeating!Dean, or sexysecretary!Sam? Prompt me, and your wish shall be my command. **

***scuttles back under bed*  
><strong>


	10. Chapter 10

The time was 11:57. Sam was situating his laptop on the bedside table, which he'd moved to the center of the room, while Dean was pushing the couch and coffee table out of the way.

"So, what, you think they're gonna ask us to bump and grind or something?" Dean asked, antsy but containing it.

Sam adjusted the webcam, frown lines prominent. "I have no idea, man. We know that fangirls are bat-crap insane. And these three are the worst of them all." The taller Winchester straightened, running a hand though his hair. "I think we should expect the worst, but with any luck, it won't last long. As soon as they start transmitting..."

Dean's cellphone began to alarm. "It's time," he said gravely. He sounded like he was about to go back to hell.

Sam hurriedly typed in the website and hit 'enter'. "We'll get through this. For Bobby."

"For Bobby," agreed Dean determinedly.

The website was one a like a tailored version of Skype. The boys could see themselves in a small, inset screen in the bottom-right corner of the laptop. As the screen dissolved into static, then blocks of primary colors, Dean and Sam stiffened.

"Hel-lo, Winchesters!" crowed a redhead from the screen before them.

"You're not a Sister!" accused Dean, deflating slightly.

The redhead laughed. "Sure I am! One of the lesser-known, but united with the cause all the same. Cherry's the name: Cherry Pie. Like the Warrant song, Dean, darlin'." She waggled her eyebrow suggestively. This was her _dream. _Fangirl had graciously allowed Cherry, the collegiate film major (how appropriate!), to spearhead the production.

"And what is that cause, again?" asked Sam snidely. The more time they could keep this Cherry character talking, the better.

"You know, silly goose!" she giggled, twirling a lock around her red fingernail. She tone was sacred, fervent. "To create a Dictionary of Winchester Acts comprising every fangirl fantasy imaginable, and some that have yet to even be conceived."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Where's Bobby? What have you done to him?"

"Nothing," assured Cherry in a way that was not assuring at all. "He's safe and sound. When we're through here, we'll let him go. Sister's Honor!" She held held up three fingers splayed to form a 'W'.

"And what happened to the ninja? And that psycho goth?" demanded Sam, unconsciously reaching up to his chunk of missing hair.

"Yeah, and the BDSM wanna-be," added Dean darkly.

The camera that fed them the image of the strange room and the redhead swiveled to show Gothic Lolita's beaming face. "Ooh, miss me already, Sam, baby?" she half-cooed, half-squealed. "You know I'm only psycho for you, Sammy-poo!"

Dean covered his laugh with a fisted cough.

Sam scowled at him. "Let's get this show on the road. We want Bobby back. How many - erm, _acts - _does this Dictionary consist of?"

The screen's view changed again, this time, to show Fangirl, with Otaku's soul-staring eyes over her shoulder. "Hard to say," she purred. "More are pouring in by the second. We're up to about two-thousand as of now..."

"TWO-THOUSAND?" shouted Dean. "We can't do that!"

"You have to," asserted Otaku, pulling the camera to bear on herself. "If you want Bobby in one piece."

"Only way to finish is to start!" chirped Lolita.

Dean resisted the urge to flip her off. "Fine," he snarled.

The camera jerked back and panned, showing the four Sisters taking their places at various monitors, fingers poised over keyboards. "But first..." The Winchesters jumped as the door to their hotel room was knocked upon. Sam stalked over and flung it open.

A acne-ridden young man in a brown uniform stood there, holding a dolly of large cardboard boxes. "I gotta delivery for," he checked his scanner and smirked, "Mr. Sexy and Mr. Hot?"

Sam's movements were tight as he yanked the dolly past the threshold, tipped the contents off it, shoved the metal platform back outside, and slammed the door in the young man's face.

"Your props," filled in Cherry. "Go on, open up Box 1 first!"

Dean met Sam's eyes as he pulled his knife and slit the tape on the box marked '1'. The cardboard flaps were folded back to reveal...

"Oh, _hell, _no," growled Dean, shooting to his feet.

"No way in hell," agreed Sam, standing rigid.

Cherry's eyes were gleeful. "Excellent! A dash of dub-con to whet our appetites."

"I second that, with sugar on top!" said Fangirl, pumping her fist and swiveling in her chair.

"Are you broadcasting this?" queried Dean disbelievingly.

"As you so aptly put it," smiled Cherry. "Hells yeah, we are! And the hit counter is already in the hundred-thousands..."

"ENOUGH TALK!" shouted Otaku, leaning into the screen with narrowed eyes. "PROMPT THEM! PROMPT THEM NOW!" Sam's laptop speakers crackled slightly with the volume increase.

"Damn, Otaku!" cried Cherry, rubbing her ear and shoving the ninja away. "Inside voice!"

"She's right," chuckled Lolita coquettishly. "The first prompt, from one particularly persistent denizen in another circle of fanlove, Leahelisabeth, is 'Sam in a box'."

Sam's grimace was tinged with no small measure of relief. He emptied Box 1 out on the dirty hotel carpet, and climbed in, hugging his knees to his chest. "How's this?"

"Aaaaww!" chorused the quartet of fangirls.

"Maybe this won't be so bad," murmured Dean to Sam hopefully.

"Dean, sweetie?" sing-songed Lolita. "See that bottle of self-hardening chocolate icecream shell? Open it, please."

Dean did as bade.

"Now, pour the entire thing over Sam's luscious hair."

"So much for hoping," muttered Sam, closing his eyes as the sticky, dark substance coursed down his face.

"Now we can kill about fifty birds with one stone," said Fangirl, scrolling down the list of suggestions she was receiving to her screen. "Dean, lick that stripe of chocolate off his face."

"Oh, Mary, mother of God," groaned Dean. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he bent down. His tongue snaked out and traced Sam's cheek from jaw point to cheekbone.

"Eeew! Gross!" Sam's convulsion was so strong he burst out of the box's seams.

"WWAAAAAAA!" Again, the laptop's poor speakers crackled under the shrieks. It also showed Lolita flipping her chair backwards, face frozen in joy.

"I can put that in slow motion," said Cherry happily, wiping a tear. "And I will post it immediately. After props, we get jiggy with green screen!"

_Please hurry, Shirley, _thought Dean, wincing as the squeals rose again. _Who knows how long we can last...?_

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Note: So, I managed to fit in Leahelisabeth's by-proxy suggestion for Sam-in-a-box, as well as the mighty Lampito's suggestion for making Sam a soft-centre truffle. More to come!**

**BTW, this chapter is dedicated to Lampito. She brought me up when I felt down, and gave me several prompts besides! READ HER STUFF IT'S hIlArIoUs!  
><strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: This humor is tongue (as well as some other things) in cheek. Still T-rated, but the fangirl runs strong within me due to the prolific prompting... as we all know, fangirls are just plain cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs...**

* * *

><p>At the behest of Cherry, the boys hung a thin green cloth over the entire rear wall with a hammer and nails. "Very good, boys," purred Cherry, twirling her lock of hair like mad. "We also just knocked handyman!Sam out of the park!"<p>

_I hope your hair falls out, _thought Sam savagely.

"Now, hook that electrical pump up to the inflatable kiddie pool," instructed Fangirl, tone broaching no argument.

Dean knifed the rubber wad out of its box, found the pump, and plugged it in. Already, the pool began to expand, the duckies along the side rising to life. To Dean, it looked like the 2-D yellow creatures were mocking him with their flat, expressionless blue eyes: laughing at him for his absurdity. The whirring of the pump was loud, but, unfortunately, not loud enough to drown out the redheaded Sister.

"Now, we will try out the green screen with a simple prompt," said Lolita, who had recovered form her faint with makeup intact. "Sam and Dean dressed as fangirls!"

"DRESS THEM OTAKU! DRESS THEM OTAKU!"cried the ninja, bouncing in her seat.

"If you stop yelling, fine!"

The boys had no warning: the small inset screen that showed them a view of themselves suddenly jiggled. A blink later, and Winchesters were in short mini skirts, thigh-high stockings, loafers, and rather thin white 'SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE!' t-shirts. Dean had his very short hair in two tiny bows, and Sam's chin-length cut was held back with a hairband bedecked with a massive flower. Though these outfits would have looked great on any other girl, the boys' body proportions were all out of whack, not to mention the hair on every piece of exposed skin. To the boys, it felt terribly odd to look down and see their normal clothes, only to look at the screen and see themselves...

Sam blushed and clenched his jaw. Dean exhaled long and low. "Stay strong," he ground out quietly to Sam. The girls were trying smelling salts to resuscitate Otaku, whose limbs had locked up like a fainting goat.

"I know," replied Sam, equally quiet. "Just give Shirley enough time..."

"That was excellent, fellas!" crowed Cherry, returning to her seat. "Let's do a few more, shall we? Show me...farmer!Winchesters, Fangirl!"

"Oldie, but goody," said Fangirl, taping away. The boys watched their image blur, then come into focus again with them wearing overalls, straw hats, and boots. A piece of wheat hung from Sam's mouth (he had to wet his lips to assure himself it wasn't actually there) and Dean was, by all appearances, holding a pitchfork. Subconsciously, Dean thought he felt the slight weight of the kerchief around his neck.

"Hope whomever prompted that one, liked it," said Lolita, wrinkling her nose. "Shall we try cowboys!Winchesters?"

This time, the images of the boys resurfaced decked in plaid, ten-gallon hats, spurs, dual holstered pistols, and those same, stupid kerchiefs.

"This is humiliating," wheedled Sam.

"Put on your ass-less chaps and deal with it," said Fangirl sweetly. A few keystrokes later, and they were, indeed, wearing ass-less chaps. "Don't worry, Sammy-kins," she continued. "A little humiliation does the heart good! Well, at least my heart."

"Just take it like a man," said Dean supportively.

"Looks like the kiddie pool is ready!" called Lolita happily. "Start opening those containers of custard in Box 2, boys!"

"It's wrasslin' time!" hooted Fangirl.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Long-suffering did not begin to cover it. "_You_ take it like a man," snarked Sam.

"Just shut up," replied Dean, beginning to empty out the plastic containers.

It only went downhill from there. After the wrestling match in the custard pool (in the proffered and creepily size-accurate swim trunk included in Box 2), both brothers did what they had to do with minimal mental engagement. Dean and Sam were both implementing tactics they had used in hell and Lucifer's Cage respectively to survive the horrible tortures: namely, think of something else, and pretend you're not there.

"Lick it, yeah, like that," encouraged one fangirl faintly, from the gaggle around the main screen.

"Give it some tongue action," urged another.

"That stuff on the end needs cleaning off," said a third.

Dean stared at the piece of celery in his hand, smeared with peanut butter, and gave another sigh. "This is so wrong on so many levels."

Sam had his face covered with his hand, so his voice was muffled. "Don't get me started."

"Oh, poor Sammy feels left out," coddled Lolita.

"Dean's mouth looks tired," commented Fangirl.

"Perhaps Sam should tag-team?" suggested Otaku.

Sam's eyes widened with horror as Dean shoved the celery into his grasp. "You'll learn," the older Winchester chided. "To keep your mouth shut."

"Actually, he needs to keep it wide open," corrected Lolita.

"Put a sock in it, Goth Barbie!" insisted Dean. "How many more acts do we have to do?"

"Well, with the double-ups, we've gone through about two-hundred so far..."

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

"Chill, Dean," said Sam, eyeing the tongue marks on the celery with disgust. "This is for Bobby."

"Yeah," groaned Dean, fists clenched. "I know."

"While Sam works that celery," continued Lolita cheerfully. "Dean can take the green screen for a solo ride. Split the feed, girls, so we can capture both."

"Activating rockstar!Dean imagery!" said Fangirl with glee. The stage Dean was suddenly standing on, complete with light show and towers of fire, lit up Dean's angular and stoic face most handsomely.

_Taptaptappity-tap _went Fangirl's black fingernails. "And Santa!Dean." _Taptaptap. _"And wizard!Dean." _Taptaptaptap. _"And policeofficer!Dean - "

"Hey!" giggled Cherry Pie, also tapping away. "I want in! Time for some nurse!Dean."

"Oooh," moaned Otaku agreeably as the white uniform appeared on Dean's body. "Give me shots!"

"Take your medicine," added Lolita vulgarly. "Give it more lips, Sammy-poo!"

With great care as to where he put his gaze, Dean glanced over to his grossly occupied brother. _When will this end?_

_Shirley had better hurry up, _Sam gazed back. _Or something not-nice is gonna bust loose up in my brain..._


	12. Chapter 12

"Next up, fireman Dean!" said Fangirl, flourishing.

"Holy hellfire and brimstone," commented Lolita with a cackle.

Dean's image was now that of a slightly smoke-filmed and soot-streaked fireman, complete with ax, red hat, and vibrant yellow jacket.

"Sam!" instructed Cherry. "Put down that celery, you obviously are enjoying it too much. Step over there with your brother. Hey Fangirl, got my personal favorite?"

"But of course, Cherry Pie. One Sam, Phantom of the Opera, coming up!"

Sam's shoulders almost felt heavy with the weight of a cloak that was not there, and his face tingled as though the contoured mask rested against it.

"MAKE HIM SING! MAKE HIM SING!"

"You heard the ninja," urged Cherry. "Sing!"

Sam straightened his back and, much to Dean's shock, began to belt in a surprisingly balanced tenor: _"Sing once again with meeeee! Our strange duuuu-eeet! My POW-er ooover yoooouu, grows stronger yeeeeet..."_

"Hey, assbutt! Is this thing on?" Shirley's voice resonated in the bug in Dean's ear, along with a bit of wince-worthy feedback.

"Damn, Wuman! Lower your voice!" he hissed back into the ultra small mic at his collar, trying not to move his mouth.

"I found where they're keeping Bobby-kins. I'm jimmying the window now."

"Be careful. You're our only shot."

"Pfft, have you seen my rap sheet? My bread and butter is breaking and entering." She went silent, presumably having entered the house. Sam and the girls almost, _almost _seemed to be forgetting that one was manipulating the other in favor of the performance. Sam even was doing a few hand motions, driving home his parts. Their voices soared pleasantly, but Dean kept his grimace at the non-rock song to himself. Maybe, if he stayed still long enough, they would forget about him.

He momentarily forgot that motivation when he saw Shirley doing a Pink Panther tip-toe across the rear of the Sister's room. Dean's eyes bugged almost comically as she stepped _just so _on a bundle of electrical cords, jerking them out of the wall.

"HEY! It's the Bobby Wuman!"

"GET HER!"

Dean paled, and tamped down on the hysterical laugh at the bitchfight that followed. Four pissed cheerleader-types against one biker chick? It was almost an even fight.

Almost.

The four Sisters were lent power by the spirits sharing their bodies, so their hits looked and sounded stronger than normal. They certainly did twice the damage to Shirley's already ugly mug. When the dust settled, Shirley was struggling futilely against the head to toe bonds bestowed upon her. "That oughtta hold her," panted Fangirl, dusting her hands.

Leaving the leather clad woman in the middle of the room, tied tighter than a tick, the Sisters returned to their seats. "Nice try, boys," cooed Lolita. "But no cigar."

"They should be punished," suggested Cherry.

"More celery?" asked Otaku hopefully. Sam and Dean stiffened with slight horror.

"No," sighed Fangirl. "I think we should incorporate their just desserts into a later act. This pathetic little disturbance put us behind schedule. Let's take it from chorus two, Sam, sisters. One two three four..."

That was their one and only plan, and it had failed. That was IT. Dean's mind could not wrap around the thought of continuing this indefinitely. He couldn't fathom continuing another _hour. _

"Sweet Castiel," whispered Dean. The psycho girls on the other end of the Skype call were too busy drooling over his brother (who was a lot like a deranged musical prodigy, if you thought about it) to hear his utterance of disbelief, or watch the proverbial lightbulb go on over his head at the idea it gave him. While Sam sang on, with the four girls harmonizing the part of Christine Daae`, Dean surreptitiously closed his eyes and shifted his hands so that they folded.

Even though the four Winchester Sisters were distracted by the utter genius that was a Supernatural enthusiast's rendition of _Phantom of the Opera_, the spirits of fangirls past that shared their bodies were not. They hissed inside the girls, and rose to control them. Four sets of eyes widened and turned purple, four spines arched.

_"What is that?" _asked Fangirl, her voice myriad. _"That pressure in the air? That energy?"_

_"I know not, sister," _answered Cherry Pie, cracking her neck. _"But the energy comes closer even as we speak."_

_"I know what it is!" _shouted Lolita. _"We have an incoming angel!"_

_"Could it be...?" _Otaku dared to breathe. _"Could it be...him?"_

From the adjacent room, they heard Bobby yelp, "God's tits! Personal space!"

The spirits gasped in unison and bolted for the room that their captive occupied, knocking the camera on their end onto its side. A cacophony of voices, cries of pain, zaps of electricity, and Latin phrases erupted from elsewhere in the house. Dean and Sam fell upon the laptop screen before them, trying in vain to see the commotion that was coming from the other side of the wall. "Is that what you were doing?" asked Sam. "Praying to - ?"

"Bite your tongue, heathen," replied his older brother. Suddenly, the commotion stopped. A pair of black loafers walked into view, and the hem of a beige trench coat. The screen before them dissolved into static.

"Was that who I think it was?" asked Sam slowly.

"Yep," said Dean. "And he'll be here in three, two, one - "

There came a sound of massive wings flapping, and a disturbance in the air of the hotel room. "I heard your prayer, Dean," came a gravelly voice from behind the brothers. "And I answered."

The Winchesters turned to see Castiel, in all his Holy Tax Accountant glory, with bound Shirley tossed over his shoulder, Bobby rubbing his chafed wrists beside him, and the unconscious Winchester Sisters hanging by their collars from his hands.

"Hail Castiel, full of awesome!" said Bobby heartily, helping guide Shirley to the ground and slicing her ties.

"My love!" said Shirley as Bobby helped her to her feet. "I thought we'd be parted forever!" She enveloped Bobby in a sloppy kiss that had both brothers groaning and averting their eyes.

"Hey man, nice work!" said Dean, clapping the angel on the shoulder.

"Thanks, bro, you really saved the day!" said Sam, grinning broadly.

"Thanks are not necessary," replied the angel, without really meaning it. "What would you have me do with these girls?" he asked, shaking them slightly.

"Wipe their minds and send 'em home, I guess," said Dean. Castiel briefly glowed with pure, heavenly light, and when the light subsided, the Sisters were gone.

"Aw, man, I forgot to shave their heads," said Dean, slapping his forehead.

"It's alright. I forgot to give them Hitler mustaches with permanent marker," added Sam consolingly.

"Cas," said Bobby, coming up for air. "Thanks. We were toast."

"How did you do it?" queried Shirley, lipstick smeared. "How did you overpower them?"

"It was hardly overpowering," replied Castiel, blue eyes sharp. "When they got to me, all they seemed to want to do was, as Dean puts it, invade my personal space."

"Wait, wait," said Dean in disbelief. "You're saying that even though they knew you were their to mess up their plans, all they wanted to do was hug you?"

"Among other things," said Castiel. "In fact, because they were all touching me, I exorcised all of the spirits within them at once."

"But...why do they like you?" asked Sam, confusion written on his face. "They're _Winchester_ Sisters!"

Castiel shrugged with the faintest air of smugness. "I guess that every fangirl has the ultimate obsession." And with that, he disappeared in a flap of feathers.


End file.
